


One Two

by BladeAchilles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied Crowley/Aziraphale (one-sided), M/M, Yes I am that person and I wrote Crowley/ young hot Shadwell, if you don't remember Narker was the cellmate Shadwell refers to, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeAchilles/pseuds/BladeAchilles
Summary: Crowley had only gone to Shadwell's flat to tell him that the church robbery had been called off. This was just a professional courtesy between demon and criminal, absolutely nothing nefarious. Not so much as a single temptation planned beforehand.He honestly has no idea how he ended up in the lance corporal's bed.





	1. Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> Rather than finishing my current fic in progress (the final chapter of The Great Southern Pansy Campaign is coming soon, I swear!), I decide to write angsty Crowley/Young!Shadwell porn instead. This can be explained by the simple fact that I am a terrible person.

_Soho, 1967_

 

Crowley had no idea why it happened.

 

He had gone to Shadwell’s dingy, condemned-looking flat with no intentions beyond telling the rather odd lance corporal that the robbery was off, services of a locksman no longer required and all that, but no hard feelings here have the promised hundred pounds anyways. Even if he had planned on doing a bit of demonic temptation, it would have been something along the lines of convincing the man to go and rob a church anyways for fun, not… well. Certainly not the more … bodily sort of temptation.

 

So why, he asked himself as he quietly shimmied into his trousers the next morning, trying to sneak out without waking the very naked man snoring loudly on the lumpy cot behind him, had he gone and done _that_?

 

There had been a moment when he’d almost come to his senses and called the whole thing off, too. He had just pulled his turtleneck off in one smooth motion (a move that had required serious practice over the years in order to perfect) and was in the process of removing Shadwell’s trousers in a less smooth fashion when he could have sworn the human had whispered ‘one, two, buckle my shoe’ under his breath and giggled. There had been half a moment where Crowley considered abandoning his turtleneck as a lost cause and legging out the front door before things got any weirder. Anyone who could _giggle_ and recite nursery rhymes while Crowley was in full Temptations of the Flesh mode was not someone playing with a full set of cards, so to speak.

 

But then Shadwell had surged forward and started kissing him with the sloppy intensity of someone who wasn’t very experienced but was determined to gain a lot more experience very quickly, and Crowley thought about what it would be like to fuck his way inside the kind of man who politely raised his hand in the middle of a Soho-criminal-underworld meeting in order to ask strangely sincere questions about witches, what it would be like to be inside a man who was astoundingly bad at playing a cool, confident criminal for-hire but completely unaware of just how bad he was, and now Shadwell was panting and gazing at him with an intensity and an oddly yearning desire that was almost too much to bear, and all Crowley could think about was the man’s hands clutching at his hips and the curious mixture of innocence and bastardy swirling around in the man underneath him and, and, and….

 

No, Crowley had no idea whatsoever why Aziraphale had climbed out of his car and he had climbed into bed with Shadwell.


	2. Shadwell

_Soho, 1967_

 

Shadwell knew exactly why it had happened.

 

 

Not that he had expected it to happen before it did, mind you. When Anthony had come to his flat that night and told him that the robbery was off, his first thought was about the money he had been going to earn and the rent that was three days past due, not about the way the other man’s hips had swayed back and forth as he had entered Shadwell’s flat. After some brief discussion, the promised hundred pounds were produced and safely tucked away in the battered biscuit tin behind the hot plate. When Shadwell had turned around and asked if the flash Mafia man was sure that there were no other services Shadwell could provide, he had meant to try and drum up some business for the Witchfinder Army, honest he had.

Maybe he had been standing too close, people told Shadwell that he did that a lot. Maybe he had been staring too much, another thing people liked to complain about. There were a lot of things people liked to point out that he did wrong. That, Narker had told him once, was a sign that he was On the Right Path, for Yea Verily Doth the Righteous Create Enemies Wheresoever They Tread.

Or perhaps it had something to do with raw animal magnetism – one of the Witchfinder manuals had a lot to say about raw animal magnetism and the Ways of All Flesh.

Whatever it was, Anthony had raised his eyebrows, given Shadwell a long, up-and-down sort of look from behind those large black glasses, and somehow or another Shadwell’s hand had ended up down the other man’s trousers and an impressively bendy tongue was licking its way into Shadwell’s mouth. By the time Shadwell had fully realised what was happening Anthony had somehow managed to remove his shirt (but not his glasses, Shadwell was impressed to notice), and he tensed in anticipation as his eyes travelled down the lithe, pale chest sprinkled with ginger fuzz. He counted two nipples with relief. This was okay then.

Secure in the knowledge that nothing about this encounter related to witchery, Shadwell chased after that tongue again, letting his hands roam freely, feeling muscles tense and writhe under strangely warm skin. He fell backwards onto the cot that was the sole piece of furniture in the tiny flat, pulling the other man down on top of him as he went down.

The cot had been a gift from Narker after Shadwell had been released from prison. Narker had taught Shadwell so much – how to pick locks and how to roll tabs and all about the witches that were the cause of everything wrong in the world and how to identify them. He was so grateful that Narker had been his cellmate, so grateful that his world now made sense, when it never had until then…

Shadwell had drifted off in memory, but suddenly he returned to the moment, keenly aware of how the lumps in the cot beneath him were digging painfully into his bare back and how good he felt as his former employer was draped over him, pinning him down. Narker had also taught him a certain move that would be appropriate in this scenario. Shadwell gathered his wits, concentrated, and moved his hips in a way that caused Anthony to start thrusting in a way that made sparks fly behind Shadwell’s eyes. Now the Mafia man was moaning in his ear, moaning the same thing over and over again. Shadwell couldn’t quite make it out over the mingled sound of their panting breath, but it sounded something like Zera Fail. He didn’t know who Zera was, probably one of those mysterious, glamorous women who hung about the sort of seedy Soho clubs Anthony frequented.

Shadwell didn’t mind being called by someone else’s name, that was another thing Narker had taught him. Sometimes people called you the wrong name in the middle of the thing they were doing. That was okay, nothing personal, just something that happened, couldn’t get all bent out of shape over it. It didn’t mean Shadwell was doing anything wrong. But for some reason the thought made him anxious, and as the rhythm of Anthony’s thrusts started to lose their steady pace, hips snapping forward in a fast, jagged tempo, Shadwell’s fingers found what he was looking for. He stroked the pointed nubs of flesh, reassured by their presence. One, two, and everything was alright. One, two and this was okay – one, two and _he_ was okay – one, two and his breath stopped as the world narrowed to the burst of pleasure radiating out from the place where their hips met…

 

Yes, Shadwell knew exactly why this happened. The man had two nipples; it was really that simple.


End file.
